


it's better to feel pain than nothing at all

by cresselia



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:05:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia/pseuds/cresselia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll always be second best when she's sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's better to feel pain than nothing at all

Sometimes Jake wonders if all cops get this drunk together on such a regular basis, but he figures the nine nine has never exactly been conventional.

 

They successfully shut down a case involving a prostitution ring that's been going on for a few months now (all without Gina having to make good on her uncomfortably eager offer to go undercover if need be), and Boyle suggests that they all go out for drinks together. Naturally, everyone agrees. Jake's promise is perhaps a little lackluster, if only because he knows the night, for him, will quickly dissolve into staring longingly at Amy from a distance and throwing back drink after drink.

 

It's kind of a thing he does now.

 

See, the thing is, she and Teddy aren't together anymore. They actually broke up two weeks ago, but Jake's just gotten so good at the pining from a distance thing that he's lost all of that nerve he worked up that first time he was going to ask her out. He's spent a lot of nights wondering what Amy saw in Teddy, what she didn't see in him, and trying to figure out if he'd ever actually be good enough for her.

 

Despite all of his strides towards maturity, the verdict from the nagging voice in his mind (that suspiciously sounds enough like her circa the beginning of their partnership) is no.

 

He still spends time with her, of course. They're partners and friends, and he loves being her friend more than anything. It hurts sometimes, like they lock eyes for too long or she gives in and laughs at one of his stupid jokes, but the alternative would be no Amy at all, so he clenches his fist and continues bantering with her.

 

It's hard because he thinks about her constantly. Almost to the point that he's ready to trade in his plaid shirts for a smelly t-shirt, let his hair grow back out, and commit to being a living interpretation of the Radiohead song “Creep”. Sometimes when he's up at night watching Colbert, he thinks about how she probably went to sleep after The Daily Show because even though Colbert plays a character personality, she would still find him crass and not appreciate the jokes. It would annoy him if it were anyone else, but if they were together, she'd be peacefully asleep next to him while he lowered the volume to keep from waking her. The whole fantasy is weirdly domestic and not even remotely sexual, but he's long since realized that his feelings for Amy have very little with wanting to sex with her.

 

(Of course, wanting to have a sexual relationship with her in addition to an actual adult one comes with the territory of being in love with her, but that's besides the point.)

 

He can see her tossing back a shot with Rosa at the counter when Boyle waves him over. He doesn't really want to go over, but he's promised Terry that if he can't step up and admit his feelings to Amy, he'll at least work on letting his friends keep his mood up. Besides, Boyle means well, and for better or worse, they're best friends. Not that he would ever admit to that out loud.

 

“Jakey!”

 

He nods as he hoists himself up on a stool. “Boyle. Rosa. Santiago.”

 

“What were you hiding over there like a weirdo for?” Rosa asks in that way that makes it seem more like a demand than a question.

 

“I wasn't hiding,” he replies with maybe a little too much snap. “I drinking away the horror of the things I've seen.”

 

“Shut up, pineapples,” Amy mutters, face buried in her arms as she rests against the counter.

 

It's the first time he looks at her since he walks over because the entire time he's made a conscious effort not to avert his gaze in her direction. She lifts her head up just as he looks over at her, hair messily framing her face and eyes a little hazy. It's drunk – sloppy drunk. Which is so very un-Amy, but, hey, maybe she's been drinking away the horrors of the things she's seen too. Who is he to judge?

 

(He's not here to judge – he's here to worry because he knows she'll have a massive hangover tomorrow, and who will be there to help take care of her? These are the kinds of things he's begun thinking about since declaring himself in love with her at four in the morning alone in his apartment.)

 

“You alright, Santiago? Can I get you anything? Water? A bucket? A red wig to perfect your Lindsay Lohan impression?”

 

When she reaches over to clamp her hand against his mouth, it only confirms the fact that, yes, she is extraordinarily drunk. “Why don't you have an off switch?”

 

“I'm more of a plug-in kind of guy,” he replies with a waggle of his eyebrows that makes them all immediately frown and shake their heads. Except for Boyle who pats his shoulder encouragingly.

 

“You're gross. All guys are gross,” she announces, her brow furrowing as she speaks. “Sorry Boyle. No offense.”

 

“None taken!”

 

Rosa eyes her for a moment before reaching over an grabbing her drink. It takes a moment for Amy to catch on, her face breaking out into an indignant expression once she realizes she's not getting her alcohol back.

 

“I'm cutting you off.”

 

“That's unniss-- un-- unnecessary.”

 

“Santiago, listen to yourself.”

 

“Fine!” She juts her bottom lip out (adorably) indignantly and slides off of her barstool, losing her balance for a moment. “This isn't the only bar around here. I can drink someplace else.”

 

She only manages a foot before tripping over herself. She's cute enough when she's acting all childish, but he knows there's no way in hell he's letting her leave alone. Not in this kind of state, at least. Besides, his car is outside and it would just be easier and safer for him to take her home.

 

“Amy, come on,” he groans with maybe too much effort in sounding upset as he follows her lead out of the bar. He grabs her elbow gently and tugs her back. “Let me drive you home.”

 

She looks at him for a moment with an indecipherable look before nodding and looping her arm through his for support. Her gaze makes him feel self conscious, like he has to run his fingers through his hair or adjust his tie.

 

The air between them seems to shift once they get into his car, but he figures it's probably just the lack of background noise now. The quiet seems near somber now as she fiddles with his radio with heavily lidded eyes. She looks tired, and maybe she is, but he knows better. Has seen her run on no sleep, solve cases without leaving the precinct for days on end, fallen asleep with her at their desks. He knows what she looks like when exhaustion hits her, and the look in her eyes is reading sadness.

 

It makes him grip the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary because she's probably thinking about Teddy, and, yeah, he still doesn't know exactly what happened, but he hates the guy even more for making Amy do this to herself.

 

“I don't want to go home,” she says quietly as he pulls out of the bar parking lot. She's looking out of the window instead of at him, the lights from outside reflecting on her face. It all makes her seem like a different person, and maybe she is right now.

 

“I'm not taking you to another bar,” he says firmly, channeling the police captain they left at the precinct.

 

“My apartment feels empty.”

 

The statement catches Jake off guard. For some reason, he never thinks of Amy worrying about that kind of stuff. She always seems so put together and modern that something like being lonely wouldn't bother her because she's too focused on catching perps and throwing them in the slammer. Or jail, because that sounds significantly less lame than 'slammer'.

 

He's not really sure what to say to her, so he keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead of them, only glancing at her every now and then to make sure she doesn't pass out. She does, of course, halfway there, and he thanks some unnamed deity that she's always been a light sleeper.

 

“Amy,” he says softly, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, we're here.”

 

Her eyes flutter open, eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Her hair is just the slightest bit mussed from resting her head against the window, and there's a sleepy haze clouding her eyes. All of it makes her look irresistible to him, and he just wants to kiss her.

 

“I don't want to go up.”

 

It's probably not a good idea – he knows this. But his desire to get her in her bed safe and sound for the night outweighs the eventual heartache that will accompany leaving her apartment without making a move. She's drunk, so it's not like now would be a good time anyway; it's just every day he spends with her without letting her know his feelings is slowly eating away at him.

 

Jake sighs and exits the car, quickly jogging over to Amy's side. He opens her door and helps her out, wrapping his arm around her waist. It's almost surprising how easily she fits against his side. He can smell her perfume, feel her nuzzle her face against his shoulder with a groan, and it unnerves him.

 

“Are you coming up?”

 

“Well, you're obviously not going up alone,” he mutters as she reaches for her keys.

 

They climb up three flights of stairs until they reach her apartment, and the entire time all he can think about it how comfortable it feels. He keeps his arm around her the entire trek, and she never even moves to pull away. Maybe it's only because she's lonely and still heartbroken from her breakup with Teddy, but it's still something. It's something more than he'd ever get from her otherwise.

 

“You can come in if you want,” she says quietly – because all of her neighbors are old and asleep – as she pushes the door open without a creek.

 

The bad idea alarm goes off in his head again, but he's really in too deep to listen to it. He'll leave once he knows she's passed out and not drinking herself into more of a stupor or making poorly decided phone calls.

 

He follows her inside all the way to the couch. She falls against it with the grace of a sack of potatoes, and it warms his heart a little for reasons he can't quite figure out. She waits until he sits down apprehensively next to her before twisting to face him, face squished against her couch cushion.

 

“Where've you been?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You're so distant now.” She yawns and closes her eyes, and he can tell by her pause that she's about to speak in ways that sober Amy never would. “You're never here when I need you.” Before he can speak, she frowns and amends her statement. “That's not true. You're a good partner, but I needed you when Teddy and I broke up, and you wouldn't look me in the eye.”

 

His heart stalls for a moment, and he thinks he can feel every nerve in his body go off at once.

 

“Amy...”

 

“You're my best friend,” she continues, and he's sure she didn't even hear him say her name. “And you weren't there. I know I'm not... I'm not your best friend, but it's been hard. And I miss you. I miss drinking with you after work. All you do is sit alone in the corner now, and no one will tell me why.”

 

He's her best friend. It makes him stop breathing when she says it because it means he's important, but that's it. That's all there is to him. To them. It stops there. And it's not like he doesn't like their friendship, but it's hard being in love with her when he knows for sure where they stand.

 

He decides on “I've got some stuff going on.” It's not the full truth, but it's not a lie. And he won't confess to her while she's drunk beyond belief.

 

“We all have stuff going on.”

 

She's looking towards him, but not at him. Her gaze lowers to their laps as he swallows the lump in his throat.

 

“I'm sorry.” It's so unlike him to apologize, but really, they're out of their comfort zone here. He doesn't have it in him to banter with her right now.

 

“You're a good guy, Jake.” She says it so softly that he thinks he made it up at first. But she's looking at him with this gentle smile and reaching for his hand. He has to remind himself that this is all platonic.

 

Her fingers curl between his, her hand so much smaller and softer than his. She's inching closer, and it's all almost too much. To have her so close next to him but not being able to take the next step. It's why he's so surprised when he feels her other hand rest against his cheek, tugging him to look at her.

 

She's looking at him with a determined stare, and before he has any say, she's tugging his face towards hers. Her lips are soft and inviting and even better than he'd hoped. Her hand is gentle against his face, and it kills him that he has to pull away. She looks at up him with confusion, his hold firm against her arms.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

“I can't do this,” he tells her. He can feel his chest constrict with every word. “You're drunk, and... I wouldn't even be able to do this if you were sober. You're lonely, and I'm convenient right now, but you'd regret it in the morning.”

 

“I know what I'm doing.” Her reply is almost annoyed in tone, and her eyes narrow. “You don't have to babysit me.”

 

“Then I should leave.”

 

So he does. He stands up and grabs his keys from her coffee table. He only catches a glimpse of her sitting stunned on the couch, refusing to make eye contact. If he does, his resolve may crumble and all of his secrets will spill out like an avalanche. It's not worth it, he tells himself, as he shuts the door behind him and walks down the steps.

 

It's not worth risking. It's not worth losing her – his partner, his friend. Everything about their relationship can teeter between comfortable and fragile at the drop of a pin, and if the shift ever happens, he won't let it happen like this. Not as a replacement for another man while she's not in her right mind.

 

He can't take advantage of her like that. He won't. She deserves better. She deserves expensive dinners he can't afford and nice presents and unconditional devotion and adoration and someone who can tell her they love her without throwing chips at them from across their adjoined desks.

 

The night air feels cold against his face as he exits the building. He walks over to his car, and when he looks up at her window, the light is off.  

**Author's Note:**

> my fill for a jake/amy fic exchange that was hosted on tumblr! i'm thriving on jake/amy angst right now, if i'm being honest.


End file.
